The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires(116)

When they were finished, the bathroom looked like an abattoir. Mrs. Greene and Maryellen went into the bedroom.

“Finished?” Kitty asked.

“We are,” Mrs. Greene said.

“I need to get the car,” Maryellen said, then sat down heavily on the floor, making sure she stayed off the throw rug. “I just need to sit for a minute.”

They all ached, right down to the bone, but they weren’t even close to finished. Mrs. Greene looked around the bathroom and the bedroom, and Maryellen followed her gaze. Kitty did, too.

“Jesus, Mary, Mother of God,” Kitty said softly.

Blood was everywhere. Despite the tarp, the bathroom was painted red. The countertops, the walls, the door frame, the toilet. There was blood on the dark oak planks in the bedroom, blood on the duvet cover where Patricia lay, bloody handprints on the doors and walls. Seeing how much they had to clean drained them of their spirits, hammered them down to nothing. It was almost ten. The Clemson-Carolina game would be over in less than an hour.

“We don’t have enough time,” Maryellen said.

Something whispered in the bathroom. They looked at each other, then pushed themselves up off the floor and stood in the bathroom door. The pile of black plastic packages containing pieces of James Harris’s body twisted like snakes. Their motion was muscular and angry.

“We put the nails through his eyes,” Mrs. Greene said.

“He’s not stopping,” Kitty wailed. “It didn’t work. He’s still alive.”

The doorbell rang.





CHAPTER 40


“They’ll go away,” Maryellen whispered.

It rang again, twice in a row.

Mrs. Greene’s hands and feet went cold. Maryellen felt a headache start at the base of her skull. Kitty whimpered.

“Please go away,” she whispered. “Please go away…please go away…please go away…”

The black plastic packages crackled in the bathroom. One of them rolled off the pile and hit the floor with a THUMP. It began to squirm towards the door.

“The lights are on,” Maryellen said. “We forgot to turn out the lights. You can see them through the shutters. They’ll know he’s home.”

The doorbell rang, three times in a row.

“Who’s the least of a mess?” Maryellen asked. They looked at each other. She and Mrs. Greene were encrusted in blood. Kitty only had some bruises.

“Oh, merciful Jesus,” Kitty moaned.

“It’s probably one of the Johnsons,” Maryellen said. “They must’ve run out of beer.”

Kitty took three deep breaths, on the verge of hyperventilating, then walked out into the hall, down the stairs, and over to the front door. Everything was silent. Maybe they’d gone away.

The doorbell rang, so loudly that she squeaked. She grabbed the handle, flipped the deadbolt, and opened it a crack.

“Am I too late?” Grace asked.

“Grace!” Kitty shouted, dragging her inside by the arm.

They heard her all the way up in the bedroom and came running downstairs. Grace’s face went slack when a blood-splattered Maryellen and Mrs. Greene appeared. She looked at them in horror.

“That’s a white carpet,” she said.

They froze and looked back at the stairs. Their bloody footprints came right down the middle of the carpet. They turned back around and saw Grace stepping back from them, taking in everything.

“You didn’t…” she began, but couldn’t finish.

“Go see for yourself,” Maryellen said.

“I’d prefer not to,” Grace said.

“No,” Mrs. Greene said. “If you have doubts, you need to see. He’s in the upstairs toilet.”

Grace went reluctantly, fastidiously avoiding the bloodstains on the stairs. They heard her footsteps cross the bedroom and stop in the bathroom doorway. There was a long silence. When she came back down, her steps were shaky and she had one hand on the wall. She looked at the three women, covered in blood.

“What’s wrong with Patricia?” she asked.

They filled her in on what had happened. As they talked, her face got firm, her shoulders squared, she stood straighter. When they finished, she said, “I see. And what’s the plan to dispose of him?”

“Stuhr’s has a contract with Roper and East Cooper Hospital,” Maryellen said. “To burn their medical waste in the crematorium early in the morning and late at night. I put a big box of biohazard burn bags in my car, but…they’re moving. We can’t take them in like this.”

They all watched as Grace tapped her fingers against her lips.

“We can still use Stuhr’s,” she said, then checked the inside of her wrist. “There’s less than half an hour left in the game.”

“Grace,” Maryellen said, the dried blood crackling on her face. “We can’t take moving bags of body parts to Stuhr’s. They’ll see them. They’ll open them up and I can’t explain what they are.”

“Bennett and I have two columbarium niches for our ashes,” Grace said. They’re in the back of the cemetery, on the eastern side, facing the sunrise. We’ll simply put his head in one and the rest of his remains in the other.”

“But there’s a record,” Maryellen said. “On the computer. And what happens when the two of you pass?”